Draco's Gone Daft!
by Murdered in Cold Blood
Summary: Inspired by the Green Day song 'Brain Stew.'


**Prologue**

"Who the bleeding hells are you lot meant to be?"

Draco Malfoy, writer for the Daily Profit, was sprawled upon the floor of a quidditch stadium, his reading glasses smashed, his journalism papers scattered all over the field. He was staring at the quidditch players from Germany, but there was a girl with frizzy brown hair talking to a boy with greasy black hair about a mile from them, and they looked very familiar.

Draco had been hit by a bludger, and Britain had lost.

Now, why was Draco, an **honest **man doing there, you may ask? Well, he was doing a report about the tournament, and he had chosen the closest seat he could find and was writing, and some people could actually smell his parchment burning.

Go figure.

One of the redheaded quidditch players pointed to the 'frizz', Draco thought of her as that now, and mimed talking with his hand.

Draco, who was usually detached from others scrambled to his feet and gave the quidditch players a fleeting glare before walking over to the girl and boy, interrupting their conversation with a haughty,

"Hullo, can you lot tell me why the hell I'm here, and _why _I'm here, and **who **the ruddy I am?"

The girl with the frizzy hair gawked at him, and he arched his pale eyebrows slowly, his mouth remaining a straight line.

"You- you're a Malfoy," the boy answered steadily, which caused Draco's brows to go higher.

"Do you think this is funny, whateveryournameis?"

The frizzy haired girl bit her bottom lip, her eyes watering, obviously holding back insane laughter.

"You're bleeding!" she exclaimed finally, and Draco put his hands on her shoulders, glaring into her honey eyes, his dark ones unfeeling.

"Which causes you to laugh? You're a strange one… Are you a reporter as well?"

The girl stopped laughing and put her hands to Draco's chest, pushing him away from her, and she tried to ignore simultaneous gasp of the quidditch fans.

"No, I'm not a reporter, Malfoy, can't you remember me? I'm your enemy, a mudblood, remember?" she tried to make him remember, but Draco just stared blankly at her.

"You're the only person here who looks remotely familiar to me," Draco said, and the girl gazed over at her friend, and he just shrugged.

"And yet you don't know who I am? Do you even remember where you live, what your heritage is, who you **are**?" she rambled on, and Draco rolled his grey eyes at her.

"I thought I proved that earlier," he snapped, and she released a short sigh.

"Fine, come with us… Oh, you might need your papers… Just use an _accio_ and meet me up outside the quidditch field… We have a lot to talk about…"

Draco gave her a curt nod, retrieved his wand from his cloak pockets, muttered the spell, and had his papers in an instant, ignoring the aggravating stare of the quidditch spectators as he walked out of the catacombs, searching for the girl until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, and Draco's eyes widened, realising something.

"Damn-- I was writing a story about you…" He muttered, and he noticed her hand waiting for him to shake it, and he eagerly did, though his grey eyes portrayed no emotion.

"So, you can't remember me, at all? You can remember everything else, but just not people?" she released his hand, a smidgen of worry revealed in her eyes.

"Places, dates, schedules, quidditch practises, but nothing else…" He answered, and Hermione pursed her lips into a scowl.

"You had quidditch back in school… I think you need to be with your friends to remember things, we didn't have a fairly good past…" She commented, and Draco put on his emotionless mask, though his eyes stared at her, and to Hermione, it felt like he was staring through her, to her soul.

"I don't know who they are. No one looked familiar in that crowd…"

"Damn it," Hermione muttered, then said to him, "just follow me, alright?"

Draco only gave a nod, and trailed behind her, his hands shoved into his cloak pockets.

Hermione's house…

Draco had a pack of ice over his head, and he had an extremely bad headache, but at least the bleeding had stopped-- he thought it would never end! Hermione had used some healing spells on him, and they had been going over his history, and random facts.

"Okay, do you know what mudbloods are?" she asked him as she went through her closet for some bed sheets for his room.

"Mudbloods are a term used by Wizards, a prejudiced form of the word 'muggle.' Mudbloods are usually witches/wizards with a muggle parentage…" Draco answered, sitting comfortably on her couch, his fingers interlaced under his chin.

"And what are you?" her muffled voice asked him, and he gazed at her red ceiling.

"A wizard, a Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"Yes, finally sinking in!"

She finally emerged from her closet, huge bed sheets clutched tightly in her arms.

"I'm making progress, doctor?" he asked, almost mockingly.

"Just take this to the room next to mine," she said, and Draco eyed her suspiciously before taking the blanket from her and trudging upstairs.

"Couldn't _she _do it? She's not the one with the temperamental mind…"

* * *

Ha ha! Poor Draco… Is it funny? The prologue is short because I wanted it to be!! I think this plot line is a little overdone, but I'll find out if some people review…

R&R!! I'm only 11!!


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